


it's in his kiss

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: AU, Angst, Body Worship, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Daddy Kink, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, It's all about the kissing, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: Cross posting drabbles I wrote for thekiss meme. Pairings and prompts included in the chapter titles!





	1. larry: in public

_For halosboat_

Harry leans against the bar and lifts his drink up, sticking his tongue out in search of the tiny straw. It’s made more difficult by the fact that he can’t take his eyes off of Louis.

_Louis._

Louis is on the other side of the bar, hustling Liam out of his well-earned dollars at the pool table. From the wide smile on his puppy dog face, Liam doesn’t seem to mind much. After clapping Louis on the back, he picks up his beer and wanders over to watch Niall beat Zayn at darts.

Louis pockets his winnings and then leans over the side of the pool table to rack the balls for next game. Harry finally connects with the elusive straw as he admires Louis’ ass. While he sips, Harry idly wonders just how many hours he’s spent admiring Louis’ peachy cheeks. The dip of his waist. The cut biceps he manages to maintain despite claiming not to work out. The sharp cheekbones currently dusted with light brown scruff. The blue of his eyes.

Louis. The guy who Harry’s been halfway in love with since the day they met at freshman orientation.

“Hey, Curly!”

Harry’s eyes snap from Louis’ ass to his face. Louis smirks at him and puts a hand on his hip.

“Come on,” Louis calls. “I want to win your money, too.”

God, he’s so cocky. Harry wants to wipe that smirk off his face. His pretty face. Fuck.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head for emphasis, pushing off the bar to amble over. He doesn’t miss the flick of Louis’ eyes up and down his body, but he dismisses it. Wishful thinking. “You’re going down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis waves a hand at him. “Get your skinny ass over here.”

Harry sets his glass down on a table behind Louis and selects a pool cue before turning and sizing up the pool table. He might love Louis, might want to marry him and adopt lots of babies with him, but he’s not going to let him win at pool.

“What are we betting?” he asks off-handedly, using the chalk on the end of his cue. He blows on it to rid it of excess and looks up, wondering why Louis hasn’t started crowing about all the money he’s going to win off Harry yet.

Louis doesn’t seem to have heard him, even though he’s staring at Harry’s mouth. There are always these tiny moments that could add up to something never do, but Harry wets his lips anyway, just to see.

Louis gulps.

And maybe it’s the drink he’d downed while admiring Louis from across the room. Maybe it’s the fact that they only have a few weeks left in their senior year. Maybe it’s the warm spring air floating in from the patio area. But something makes Harry reckless.

“You know,” he murmurs, sidling up to Louis and getting in his space. Just a little bit. Just enough to count. “We don’t have to bet money.”

“Oh, yeah, Curly?” Louis says, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “What do you propose we bet, then?”

“If I win,” Harry says airily. “I get to kiss you.”

“And if I win?” Louis asks innocently.

“Then you get to kiss me.”

Harry searches Louis’ sparkling blue eyes for a sign. A sign that Harry hasn’t just fucked up four years of friendship. A sign that he hasn’t read into things A sign–

“Alright, then.”

“What?” Harry sputters at Louis’ steady voice. “D’you… are you… Lou–”

“Or,” Louis says, inching closer into Harry’s space. “We could just kiss each other now and save some time.”

A shadow crosses Louis’ confident face when Harry doesn’t respond immediately. He’s just been struck dumb by sudden possibility, he’s not going to say no. He would never turn Louis down. The idea that he might have made Louis feel insecure, doubt the words that Harry’s been waiting to hear, spurs him into action.

Somehow he remembers to lean his pool cue against the wall. When he turns back to Louis, Louis’ lovely curved eyebrows are raised. Harry cups his face with his hands and meets his searing gaze. Harry raises his own eyebrows and tilts his head in a silent question.

Louis nods.

And that’s the sign that Harry has been waiting years for. He bends his head and slots his parted lips against Louis,’ registering the sound of the guys whooping in the background but unable to give any fucks about how public this display of his affection is.

Louis runs his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip before dipping into his mouth. Stifling a moan, Harry moves his hands down slowly as Louis takes control of the kiss, stroking his neck, his sides, settling in at the dip of his waist for awhile before finally daring to grip Louis’ ass in his eager hands.

Finally. Jesus, Louis feels even better than Harry imagined.

They stand there next to the pool table for what could be hours or minutes, Harry can’t tell anymore, unable to care about anything except the way Louis is licking into his mouth. It isn’t until Harry’s cock twitches against Louis’ leg that Louis pulls back and breaks the kiss.

He stays in Harry’s space as he catches his breath, kissing him once, twice more, like he can’t help himself, quick but plush kisses that Harry can’t get enough of.

“Took you long enough,” Louis murmurs. “Been waiting years for this.”

Louis’ words rip through Harry’s body, somehow causing his heart to thud even more than his kiss. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around these new developments.

“Lou,” he says finally. “Can we go? I think we have some time to make up for.”

“Sure,” Louis says casually, with a suspicious twinkle in his eye. He twists around and reaches for Harry’s pool cue. “But first, I’m gonna kick your ass in pool.”

And Harry’s won already; he got his kiss and suddenly the possibility of marriage and babies has inched into the realm of possibility. But there’s no fucking way he’s going to let Louis win at pool.

“Rack ’em up.”


	2. shiall: to distract

_ For runaway-train-works _

Niall glances at his phone to check the time. Again. It’s only been two minutes since the last time he checked, and nothing from Shawn, not a text, not a DM. Picking his guitar back up, Niall starts to strum a melody, one he hasn’t been able to get out of his head all day. If Shawn would just hurry up and come over, maybe they could do something with it, turn it into the song they’re always saying they’ll wrote together someday.

“He blowing you off again?” Louis saunters into the living room, holding a bowl of cereal up to take a bite.

“He’s not blowing me off,” Niall grumbles, plucking at the guitar strings. “He’s too nice, way too polite to just not show without texting.”

“Every time you two make plans to write together,” Louis says after swallowing a mouthful of two different cereals mixed together, “something ‘comes up’ and then you don’t have anything to show for it.”

Louis looks meaningfully at Niall, raising his eyebrows when Niall shrugs and doesn’t say anything. It had been a mistake to tell Louis about how their previous writing sessions had gone, but Louis had caught Niall at a weak moment, three whiskeys in and maybe a little lonely. But Niall’s a grown man, he doesn’t need to explain himself to Louis, who doesn’t seem to grasp the concept that he’s not actually Niall’s older brother even though he is a couple of years older.

The front door bangs open and Niall looks up to see Liam bound inside, gesturing to something behind him with a wide grin.

“Hey guys,” Liam says cheerfully. “Look who I found outside!”

A someone then. Niall cranes his neck to peer around Liam, hoping it’s the someone he’s been waiting for.

“Hey.” Shawn ducks through the doorway, looking sheepish. Niall quirks an eyebrow. And empty handed.

“Hey,” Niall greets them, spotting Louis beckoning to Liam out of the corner of his eye. “What’s up, Shawny? You forget your guitar?”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, shrugging as he runs a hand through his thick curls. “I was over at Camila’s for a study group, I forgot I was coming here from there.”

“Liam and I were just leaving,” Louis announces, tugging at Liam’s shirt sleeve. “Give you guys some privacy.”

“Oh, but I was just going to–”

“Come with me upstairs, I know, Li,” Louis finishes, pulling him out of the room. “Later, guys.”

“That was weird,” Shawn remarks, looking from the doorway back to Niall. “What’s up with them?”

“Nothing,” Niall answers, shaking his head. “C’mere, I want to play you something, it’s been nagging at me all day.”

Shawn walks over and sits down on the couch next to Niall.

“Sorry about the guitar,” he blushes. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not,” Niall says breezily. He starts plucking the strings again, eager to get this tune out. “I’ll play and you jot down lyric ideas, yeah?”

As Shawn pulls his phone and fiddles it, pulling up the Notes app, Niall finds the melody again, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, it’s to find Shawn staring at him.

“Oh,” Shawn gulps. “That’s, um… that’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” Niall smiles. “It makes me think of, like, longing and–”

Shawn suddenly moves into Niall’s space, cupping his jaw with one of his large hands and pressing a kiss to his mouth. Niall instinctively kisses him back, falling right into their routine again. He carefully lowers the guitar as Shawn tosses his phone down and pulls him in at the waist. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to grow heated as it always does, Niall licking into Shawn’s mouth and swallowing his moans. Shawn paws at him, trying to draw him in closer when they’re already wrapped each other.

As Shawn moves to kiss Niall’s neck, gentle enough not to leave a mark but with enough fervor for Niall’s cock to twitch in his pants, a thought breaks through the haze in Niall’s mind:

He didn’t want to do this today. He wanted to actually  _ write _ this time.

With a sigh, he gently pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Shawn holds still, looking at Niall, confused.

“Sorry,” Niall mumbles, shifting back on the couch. “I just… why do we always do this? I always mean it when I say I want to write with you, we make these plans, and don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it, I  _ really _ enjoy it, but I actually wanted to write today.”

Shawn’s cheeks flush red, the rosy color traveling down his neck to his chest. Niall studies his features intently, but he thinks Shawn is embarrassed rather than experiencing one of the intense bouts of anxiety that come on from time to time. Satisfied that Shawn’s probably okay, he sits back and gives him the moment he seems to need to gather his thoughts.

“Well, um, the truth is,” Shawn starts, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck before looking up at Niall through his eyelashes. “The truth is that I can’t write a song with you.”

“What?” Niall furrows his brow. That’s probably the last thing he expected to hear. “Why?”

“I can’t write a song with you,” Shawn repeats, “because you have to be really open and honest about your feelings when you write lyrics and if I’m really open and honest with you–”

“What?” Niall can’t help interrupting, his heart racing at the possibility that sprang unbidden to his mind. “Then what?”

“Then you’ll know how I really feel about you,” Shawn admits. He flexes his hand, it almost looks like he’s about to reach for Niall’s, but he drops it to his own lap instead. “And I, um… I really like you, I always have, and I’ve been scared to tell you because you’re so, like, confident and chill all the time, and I’m so not, and I just didn’t think–”

“So you thought I would make out with you,” Niall says, reaching over and taking Shawn’s damn hand himself. “But you didn’t think I would like you back?”

He rubs his thumb over the back of Shawn’s hand and Shawn bites his lip. If it’s to stop the smile from forming on his face, he’s done a terrible job of it.

“The minute you said longing today,” Shawn says, grinning now. “I was like, I’m done for, I have so much to say about longing, but you’re the one person I couldn’t bring myself to say it to.”

“For the record,” Niall says, looking deeply into Shawn’s eyes. “I like you, you don’t have to be nervous around me, I like you a lot. I wouldn’t keep doing this with you if I didn’t, I’m not really the type. But you’re cute when you’re nervous, so–”

Shawn shoves at Niall’s shoulder and Niall pulls him in for another kiss. This is one softer, more chaste, and Niall could linger here forever. But.

“Okay,” he says against Shawn’s skin. “Time to write. I wanna hear all your thoughts on longing.”


	3. shiall: casually

_ For greatpemberly _

Niall knows what deafening noise sounds – no,  _ feels _ like. It’s overwhelming, it’s electric, it’s the best feeling in the world. He’ll never get tired of chasing it.

The noise in the family style chain restaurant doesn’t even come close, but it’s still fucking loud in there. Tables full of tipsy patrons no longer concerned with the volume of their conversations are set pieces in the elaborate choreography of servers, moving seamlessly around each other with trays piled high with rich, carb-laden meals and desserts.

Their long table is no better than the rest, littered with empty glasses and populated by half-drunk mates telling long-winded stories that inevitably end up in heated debates over details. After making some point that he’s already forgotten, Niall sits back against the booth, about to drain the rest of his pint, when he feels a lump pressed against his upper back.

When he turns to investigate, he finds that Shawn has thrown his arm over the back of the booth. It was built for regular sized people like Niall and not gentle Canadian giants, so the booth can barely contain Shawn’s lanky limbs. Niall supposes he should have been expecting Shawn’s arm there and he starts squirming around, getting situated so Shawn’s arm rests on his shoulders. He tugs Shawn’s large, bear paw of a hand to cup his shoulder and sighs in satisfaction. There, that’s better.

Shawn’s soft laugh fills his ear as Niall gets comfortable and Niall must be drunk because it sounds like the sweetest melody he’s ever heard. It’s appropriate they’re at an actual factory of cheesecake; that’s the cheesiest thing thought he’s ever had. He’d laugh someone out of the room if they brought that to a writing session. Good thing he’s not that drunk or he probably would’ve said it aloud.

Niall sips his pint, squinting in confusion. He has it narrowed down to two possibilities, he’s either drunk or not drunk, and he should probably figure it out, but suddenly he can’t quite remember why. Shawn’s fingertips are petting at the skin just below Niall’s short sleeve and it’s very distracting from figuring out… something. He takes his last sip and looks over to Shawn, who’s already studying Niall’s face.

Niall studies him right back; the large features he hasn’t quite grown into, the pale skin tinged pink at the cheeks, the green – or is it brown? – eyes fringed with dark lashes that match his soft, fluffy curls. Their roving eyes meet and they both lean in and slot their lips together. They kiss once, twice and then a third time, and in his stupor, Niall marvels at the fact they’ve never done that before. It was perfect, so natural, like they’re done it a thousand times before and tacitly agreed they’d do it a thousand more times.

Niall’s tried his hand at love, had some successes and a few misfires, even got his heart spectacularly broken, but it’s never been like this.

This is just… easy.

Shawn lifts in his eyebrows, the question written all over his face, and Niall nods. Shawn bends his head and gives him another casual kiss, for all the world like they were meant to be.

Maybe they were.


	4. tomlinshaw: out of greed

_ For louandhazaf _

The t-shirt was the first thing to go, quickly followed by the red joggers that hug the curve of Louis’ bum so nicely. Nick doesn’t mourn the loss, though, as he gropes at said bum, now gloriously bare. Christ, he’s never been with someone as fit as Louis, his slender frame deceptively strong but soft at the same time. Don’t even get Nick started on those cheekbones, those eyes. The thin pink lips, currently panting for more. They’ve barely even started, and Louis is already so desperate.

Nick  _ loves _ it.

“There we go, love, lie back,” he says gently, running his hands along the planes of Louis’ chest as he melts into the sheets. Louis’ nipples are stiff peaks, a pleasing pink, and Nick can’t resist tweaking one, causing him to cry out, before quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt. He shrugs the offending garment off, not particularly caring where it ends up and, as he moves his hand down to the flies of his trousers, Louis starts to whine.

It’s a low sound in the back of his throat, he’s not quite worked up to the point of begging yet, so Nick settles him a stern look as he discards his trousers. He hovers over Louis’ body, careful not to touch yet, and studies his face. His eyes are lidded, but the pupils aren’t dilated yet, and his breaths are short but steady. Nick ponders how far he should push him tonight, how much Louis is craving. He knows where he wants to start, though.

“Should we tie you tonight, love?” Nick asks, running a fingertip down Louis’ side and delighting in the tremble that moves through him. “You liked the silk ties last time, yeah, love?”

It takes a moment for Louis to answer and, when he does, his voice is breathy but sure.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what, love?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The words go straight to Nick’s cock, just like they always do. He bends his head and rewards Louis with a kiss, a quick one but lush, full of promise. Louis lifts his head, chasing Nick’s lips, whining again when Nick moves away.

_ “Please.” _

Due to his rather advanced thirty odd years of age, Nick doesn’t get as wet as he used to in the throes of passion but that one huffed little word has him dripping onto Louis’ slightly rounded tummy. The caveman inside likes that, has him thumbing at Louis’ soft skin to smear it around, like he needs any more evidence that Louis is his.

He takes Louis’ hands and crosses them above his head, where he’ll tie them to the headboard. He searches Louis’ now hazy eyes as Louis strains toward him with parted lips and allows himself a moment to thrill at being desired this much. It was never a sure thing Nick would find this with someone, this love, this sexual compatibility, this ache to be together all of the time. He dips his head and rubs their noses together, teasing Louis for just a moment.

“Now, now, love,” he chides. “Don’t be greedy.”


	5. shiall: out of envy or jealousy

_ For flicker-album _

It could have been the sun falling across his face that woke him up. Or the distant sound of a lawnmower; their uptight, moneyed neighbors all insist on over manicuring their sprawling grounds. But the likeliest culprit is lying on his stomach next to him in bed, dead to the world but snoring loud enough to disturb it.

Shawn rubs his eyes and yawns. There’s no point rolling over and trying to go back to sleep; even if he really wanted to, Niall’s snores are too deep, too loud to sleep through.

Not that he really minds; he’s always been the morning person of the pair of them. And he only has a couple of weeks left until tour, so it’s better to get up, get moving, get the day started. He might even have time for a quick workout before Niall gets up and demands tea. Shawn grabs his phone from the bedside table and swings his legs over the side of the bed, looking at Niall over his shoulder. He debates pressing a kiss to Niall’s unruly swoop of brunet hair before getting up, but decides against it. Judging by how late Niall got in from drinks last night and how loud his snores are, it would be like disrupting a hibernating bear.

Shawn shuffles into the bathroom, relieving his bladder first and then checking his phone as he brushes his teeth. It’s stupid, Niall teases him mercilessly, but he has one of the Niall update accounts on tumblr on notification. Sue him, he likes pictures of his boyfriend. The photos online are never as good as the ones on his phone already, but still.

It’s just as he spits out his toothpaste that he sees the photos, or else he might have choked on it. If you can choke on toothpaste. If there’s a way, Shawn would have found it at the sight of Niall, out with friends at a bar, hanging all over some girl.

Shawn squints. He recognizes her. That’s not any girl, that’s Niall’s personal assistant. His friend.  _ Their _ friend. He should be relieved or happy or… something. But he’s not. He sets the phone on the bathroom sink and runs his hands through his hair, trying to take deep breaths. This visceral reaction, his heart thudding practically in his ears, is out of proportion. He knows that logically, so he should be able to stop it.

It doesn’t stop. Shawn picks his phone up and looks at the photos again, trying to figure out what exactly is so wrong about them. It’s not that he thinks Niall would ever cheat on him, it’s not that he can’t trust him or Tara. They just look so… intimate. Out in public. For the whole world to see.

Shawn’s heart rate starts to slow with the realization and he takes a few more deep breaths.

It’s not like he even wants to take their relationship public. Not yet, anyway. But he can’t even say the word “flirty” with regard to Niall without their collective fandoms melting down for days. And this post with photos of Niall being so openly affectionate with a woman has almost no notes. It’s the kind of freedom that’s years off for Shawn, if he’ll ever even get there.

He sets the phone down with more force than he intended to, and gives it an apologetic pat. Blushing even though he’s by himself and there’s no one there to tease him for that, Shawn turns and walks out to the bedroom.

Niall’s snores have died down to cute little snuffles. If Shawn was in a better mood and had his phone in his hand, he would record it so he could watch from the road. It’s always this kind of little thing that he forgets when he’s gone. Niall smacks his lips and it jolts Shawn out of his reverie. He sits down on the side of the bed, next to Niall’s prone form, and pokes him in the side. Hard.

“Mmrph.”

Shawn pokes the bear again.

Niall groans and brings his hands up to cover his face, but Shawn gently pulls them away.

“What,” Niall rasps, blinking in confusion. “Shawny, what are you doing?”

He’s still about a quarter asleep, all rumpled with marks from sleeping so heavily on the sheets across his cheek. It’s just really cute. Images from tumblr flood Shawn’s brain, tainting the moment. He leans down and captures Niall’s lips in a kiss, noting in satisfaction how they automatically move against his, even though Niall has just woken up, probably with a massive hangover.

Shawn pushes Niall’s shoulder gently until he’s lying on his back and crawls into bed over him. Niall runs his hands along Shawn’s sides, huffing a laugh when Shawn shivers. He can’t help himself, he dips his head and kisses Niall again, slipping his tongue into Niall’s mouth when he sighs in contentment or pleasure or both. His breath isn’t that bad, just a bit stale, so Shawn keeps going and their tongues dance together.

It’s not enough, he needs to mark Niall as his, so he kisses down his skin to where his neck and shoulder meet, biting at the soft skin before licking over it. Niall pants, cupping the back of Shawn’s head with one hand, so Shawn takes the permission and gives him a small hickey, one easy to keep out of sight but dark enough to soothe the ache of not being the one in those photos with Niall.

“What’s this all about?” Niall asks, petting at Shawn’s hair as he rests his forehead against Niall’s chest. “Been awhile since you woke me up for a shag.”

Shawn laughs against Niall’s chest. He’ll tell him, he always tells him, but not just yet.

“Why don’t I make you some tea,” he offers, looking up through his lashes. “Then we can talk about that shag?”


	6. payneshaw: to distract

_For missytearex_

After one look through the door a very tipsy Harry has just thrown open, Nick was ready to turn on his heel. He would have gotten away with it, too, if not for Aimee’s vice-like grip on his arm.

“Grimmy!” Harry shouts, throwing his long arms out. “Grim _-my,_ you came!”

Aimee cackles as the poor boy turns to shout at the crowd gathered in his cramped flat.

“Everyone, Grimmy came!” Harry turns back to face them with a dopey smile and his eyes widen comically. _“Aimee,_ you’re here. Everyone–”

Nick slaps a helpful hand over Harry’s mouth as Aimee forces him through the door. It muffles Harry’s announcement that Aimee has arrived, rather than stopping it altogether, and Nick smiles in spite of himself. If sober Harry has a certain charm around him, tipsy Harry has it in spades.

Harry wraps his arms around Nick before he can manage to move away, enveloping him in his web. And here Nick thought Aimee’s grip was strong. He manages to wriggle an arm out of the embrace and pats awkwardly at Harry’s curls.

“Yes, Harold,” he says drily. “Aimee and I both came to your party.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Harry gushes, loosening his hold on Nick just enough for him to slip out of it. “Look, everyone came.”

“The turnout would be more meaningful, young Harold,” Nick sniffs, smoothing down the front of his shirt as Aimee swans away, “if you had told everyone in advance how terrible the lighting in here is. Christ, everyone will see the bags under my eyes. Or the wrinkles by my eyes. Or–”

“Your eyes are lovely, Grim,” Harry says seriously. He puts his hands on Nick’s shoulders. “You have lovely eyes, and you should know that about yourself.”

“Yes, thank you,” Nick replies, biting back a smile. He’s at a party with about a thousand people he doesn’t know who are going to meet him when he looks like death warmed over, but still. There’s that charm again. “Now, tell me, where’s the bar? I’m sure you know, you’ve visited it at least ten times already, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry grins, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Nick reaches out to steady him, as that’s a terrible proposition considering the slight heel to his boots and sober Harry’s ability to trip over absolutely nothing.

“Harry?” Nick prompts him. “Bar?”

“Oh, right,” Harry exclaims, attempting to snap his fingers. It… does not go well.

“Never mind,” Nick says, ruffling Harry’s hair as the lad makes no attempt to show him where the drinks he so desperately needs are. “I’ll find it, I’m sure.”

“Nick,” Harry stage whispers, beckoning for Nick to lean in. “Nick. No, not Nick. _Grimmy,_ c’mere.”

“Harold, I’m begging you,” Nick stage whispers back. “I need a fucking drink.”

“You’ll know where the bar is,” Harry says meaningfully, arching his brow. “When you find Liam.”

“Who the fuck is Liam?”

“He’s _Liam._ You’re going to like him. And he’s going to like you.”

And with that, Harry boops his nose and wanders away.

Nick shakes his head and heads into the sitting room, eyes peeled for any surface with a bottle of any kind. The lighting is truly abysmal, but no one is paying him any mind as he squeezes through the crowd. He’d settle for a pint at this point, but if he knows Harry, he knows there are fancy drinks in glasses with little umbrellas somewhere in this flat, and he’s not leaving until he finds one.

At long last, Nick locates a dark corner occupied by a small table absolutely littered with half-full bottles. Thank Christ. It’s seemingly being manned by a slender but muscular brunet, and Nick slows his pace as he approaches to drink him in. His face is far too friendly for a body that toned, topped with bushy eyebrows lifted practically to his hairline as he grins at someone. His lips are full; even from a distance they look lush, like they were made for a good snog.

It’s been ages since Nick had a good snog. Even longer since he’s had one with a bloke that fit.

Nick sidles up to the table, pretending to take stock of the alcohol on offer.

“Hey, mate.”

“Oh,” Nick looks up, feigning surprise. “Hiya. Didn’t see you there. ’M Grimmy, I’m a mate of young Harold over there.”

He holds out a hand to shake as they both automatically glance over to see Harry flinging himself about in the middle of the makeshift dance floor.

“Liam.”

Ah, so this is Liam. Well, Nick has to hand it to tipsy Harry, Nick is definitely interested. He shakes Liam’s hand and lingers over the motion, looking him in his warm brown eyes and giving him a small, private smile.

“Liam,” he nods, relinquishing the man’s hand finally. “Can you tell me, who do I have to shag to get a drink around here?”

“That’d be me,” Liam answers cheerfully. “How about a Cuba Libre? Sorry, our mates are all drunk pricks and rum’s about the only liquor we have left.”

“Cuba Libre it is, then,” Nick laughs, cocking his hip and eyeing Liam up and down, only somewhat subtly. When Liam coyly looks up at him through his lashes and grins, Nick knows his advances are definitely not unwelcome.

Liam hands over the drink and, having made one for himself too, holds up his glass to clink.

“Cheers,” Nick says, maintaining eye contact as he takes a sip. He leans in, under the pretense of the loud party, to ask, “So, how do you know young Harold?”

It turns out young Harold isn’t so young to Liam, as he’s only a few months older than him instead of Nick’s few years. Nick nods and laughs at all the right places as Liam tells him about meeting Harry and most of the rest of their friends at uni, and in turn tells Liam about what a disaster of an intern Harry is at the station and how they all love him anyway.

They laugh and talk through the rest of their drinks, and then through another one each. Nick is pleasantly buzzed by the time Liam asks him to dance, momentarily forgetting how bad the lighting is outside of their little bubble in the corner. He lets Liam lead him by the hand to the other side of the room, where the crowd has thinned out slightly. It’s only as Liam turns back to him that he remembers how sallow his skin must look suddenly, how aged and decrepit he’s about to appear to Liam’s youthful eyes.

So he does the only he can do. As soon as Liam is fully facing him, Nick tugs his hand. Liam goes easily, smiling as he crowds Nick’s space, and Nick cups his jaw with his other hand. Their lips meet and it’s not long before Nick is getting the good snog he’s been missing lately. Liam tastes like rum and a hint of lime, and while it’s not Nick’s natural pick in a drink, it’s addictive on Liam’s tongue.

Just as Nick’s cock twitches against Liam’s thigh and Liam tightens his grip on Nick’s hips, someone slaps a hand down on Nick’s shoulder, absolutely ruining the moment.

“I told you, Grimmy,” Harry shouts in his ear. “I told you you would like Liam and Liam would like you, didn’t I?”

Harry stands tall, his chest puffed out with pride, and Nick could cheerfully strangle him at the moment but somehow he’s still endeared.

“Yes, thank you, Harold,” Nick replies, trying to subtly inch away from Harry and back toward Liam, who’s chuckling at their tipsy friend.

“And see,” Harry says accusingly, poking Nick’s chest. “I told you that you have lovely eyes! Liam likes your eyes even in this bad lighting!”


	7. larry: in a rush of adrenaline

_ For crinkle-eyed-boo _

The afternoon sun beats down on Louis’ shoulders as he shields his eyes with his hand, trying to make out which figure on the bridge is Harry.

Harry. When Louis had signed up for this tour group, he’d never expected to meet someone like Harry. They’d hit it off right from the start, seated next to each other on the flight from L.A. For over twelve hours, they’d talked and laughed and watched movies together. Harry had shamelessly stolen food from Louis’ tray and Louis couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

They just naturally gravitated toward each other, sitting together on the tour bus and at meals, despite the hazard of stolen food. Thanks to the alphabet, their hotel rooms were usually next to each other, and Harry had taken to waking Louis up in the morning, usually with a cup of coffee. Harry fancied himself a photographer and Louis became his favorite subject, which worked out perfectly since Louis wanted Harry’s attention on him all the time.

He was like a lovesick teenager, jealous and moody whenever anyone else made Harry laugh. During one of his sulks, one of their tour mates, Zayn, had pointed out that Harry did the exact same thing and suggested that maybe they should put everyone out of their misery and just have sex already. Secretly pleased, Louis had pretended to be scandalized and used the opportunity to whisk Harry away to gossip.

They’re almost at the end of their two-week tour and they’d both decided to use their last free day for bungee jumping. Louis had gone first so Harry could see what it looked like, and as he squints up at the bridge, Louis hopes that Harry isn’t chickening out. If only he could hold Harry’s hand during instead of just before and after.

The lanky figure in the helmet poised at the edge of the bridge finally goes over, and Louis cheers even though there’s no way Harry can hear him. He admires what he can of Harry’s long, lean form, thinking for the upteenth time what he’d like to do to him,  _ with _ him. Harry’s a giant goofball with an endearing love of terrible puns, but he’s also fucking sexy, his muscles toned and tan skin littered with tattoos. There’s a spot on his sharp jaw that Louis just wants to bite, marking Harry as his own.

All in due time. Louis has a plan. He’s got it all worked out, which rom coms they’ll watch on the flight back, the casual suggestion that they get together to look at photos once they’re back home. Thank god for Harry’s camera, the only non-digital one that Louis’ seen in years; he has a built-in excuse for seeing him in person and not just once in awhile on Facebook.

The employees in the raft reach where Harry is dangling over the water, skimming his long fingers along the surface. Louis laughs to himself as Harry’s gangly limbs make their job disattaching the wires harder. He falls to his back and then just lies there spread eagle in the raft as they start making their way over to the shore where Louis waits.

Louis walks closer to the shore, eagerly anticipating a hug from Harry. He gives the best hugs, just wraps those long arms around you and doesn’t let go; sometimes he sways a bit. He always squeezes slightly before letting go. Louis figures if he plays his cards right, they’ll be at cheek kissing stage within the week. He has it all carefully planned out, wooing Harry.

Harry almost falls stepping out of the raft, but he doesn’t let it deter him from making a beeline toward Louis. Louis grins at the sight of him, curly hair and lovely green eyes both a bit wild, lips bitten a dark pink, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He opens his mouth to congratulate Harry but before he can say anything, Harry marches right up to him, cups his jaw with those large hands of his, and kisses him full on the mouth.

Louis parts his lips as he gasps in surprise, his hands automatically reaching for the slight pudge just above Harry’s hips that he’s spent hours admiring, and Harry slips his tongue right in without missing a beat, licking into Louis’ mouth like his life depends on it. Louis tightens his grip on Harry, pulling him as close as he physically can. This is so much more than he could have expected and yet it’s already not nearly enough.

Harry swallows Louis’ moans, tilting his chin just so to chase the angle he’s after. He growls, just a small noise low in his throat, but he actually growls when he finds it, somehow kissing Louis with even more fervor than before. Louis lets one hand drift down to grope at Harry’s pert ass, something he’s been dying to do since he boarded the plane behind him, and Harry loses focus, moaning against Louis’ mouth, the sound low and louder than one might consider appropriate for the setting. Louis squeezes his handful as their mouths brush together, breathing heavily as Harry moans again.

Harry rests his forehead against Louis’ as they try to catch their breath. Louis brings a hand up to stroke Harry’s neck and feels his pulse jumping erratically. He pets Harry’s curls and hums soothingly. Harry’s breath starts to even out under his ministrations, and Louis tries to pull him closer, nuzzling at his neck.

“You know, Curly,” he says softly, cupping the back of Harry’s head with his hand. “I had this whole plan–”

“Fuck your plans,” Harry huffs, tightening his grip around Louis. “This trip has been two weeks’ worth of foreplay and after that jump, the rush, oh my god, and I saw you, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Yeah, that was some rush,” Louis murmurs, letting Harry sway him slightly.

And they both know without saying that Louis didn’t mean the bungee jump.


	8. payneshaw: because they're running out of time

_ For a-brighter-yellow _

It’s deja vu when the alarm starts blaring at half four, but not the nice kind of deja vu, where you feel like maybe a stranger has smiled at you on this corner before or all the magic ingredients for a good show are coming together in precisely the right order at precisely the right time.

No, this deja vu is more like a horror show that Nick has tried, now in vain, to block out entirely. It takes several long moments for Liam to silence his phone, during which blinking his eyes awake is actually painful for Nick. It had taken no time at all to grow rather accustomed to his comparative lie ins after moving to drive time, and this awakening is rude altogether.

For more than one reason. As he looks over at Liam, adorably rubbing his eyes with hands curled into fists, Nick’s heart clenches. It’s an occupational hazard for his boyfriend; he has to travel, frequently, and sometimes for long stretches. Nick always knew that, but forewarned isn’t forearmed when it comes to love.

Christ, the early hour really isn’t good for him; he gets moody and dramatic. And not in the good way.

“Well, good morning,” Liam murmurs, thick eyebrows lifted in surprise at finding Nick awake.

Nick’s eyes flutter closed as Liam leans over and gives him a soft kiss; nuzzling into the touch as Liam thumbs at his cheek. When he opens his eyes, the sight of Liam doing that wide grin thing he does greets him and he can’t help but smile in return, despite the painful wake-up and imminent departure.

“Hiya, love,” Nick rasps, resting his against the pillow and squinting up at Liam with one eye. “Didn’t think I was going to sleep through you leaving, did you? ’S a long one this time, wanted to see you.”

Liam visibly melts at that and there’s a tug somewhere in Nick’s chest that this small gesture means so much to him. The scars from the bullying in his youth hadn’t been healed by the ensuing worldwide fame and adoration. In fact, Nick thinks Liam’s psyche has been working overtime to make sense of it all, what he deserves, what he should expect. In Nick’s not-at-all-humble opinion, those conclusions are way off the mark, much too low, and the not-so-secret-anymore romantic in him is determined to change that.

Even if it means waking up at dawn after vowing never again.

He tugs at Liam anywhere he can reach him, clawing at his shoulders, his hips, the back of his head, to draw him into his space. There’s a soft laugh in his ear soon enough; Liam having let him win. He gathers Nick up in those obscenely strong arms of his and kisses the top of his head.

“You’re like a weak little kitten,” Liam teases, rubbing his hand over Nick’s back. “Pawing at me to pet you.”

“Excuse you,” Nick huffs with as much dignity as he can muster, before a yawn escapes his mouth. “I’ll have you know I’m very strong and manly, even at arse o’clock in the morning.”

“Especially at arse o’clock in the morning,” Liam nods seriously, appeasing him. “Which, speaking of, means I have to be getting up, love, got a plane – planes, actually – to catch.”

“No,” Nick whines, burying his face in Liam’s neck and pawing at his bare chest. He’s usually well satisfied that Liam doesn’t wear a vest to bed, but just this once he wishes he had something to grab, hold onto, so Liam couldn’t twist out of his grasp.

“’M sorry, love,” Liam whispers. He scoots his body down and kisses Nick’s cheek.

Nick takes his opportunity and turns his face to catch Liam’s lips with his own, nipping at the full bottom lip the way Liam likes and eliciting a low groan. He’s got him now. Nick takes Liam’s face in his hands and keeps him close, licking at the spot he’d tugged at with his teeth before kissing Liam again and again.

Nick tends to think of just-woke-up kisses as languorous, lazy, indulgent even. This kiss is a different type of indulgent altogether, it’s greedy and desperate. Needy, something Nick has never allowed himself to be with anyone else. Liam lets Nick take what he wants, pliant as he moans and whimpers.

Just as Nick consciously realizes how breathless he is, having been so focused on licking into Liam’s mouth that he’s quite forgotten to breathe, a piercing noise breaks them apart. They stare dumbly at each other for a moment before Liam pulls back, twisting away. Nick finally puts it together when the noise stops: Liam’s alarm.

“Just in case,” Liam says sheepishly, rubbing the back his neck. “I didn’t think this was gonna happen, but…”

“Just in case,” Nick finishes, stroking Liam’s now pink cheek. “Smart lad. Very smart. Perhaps smart enough to have set a third alarm?”

He raises his eyes hopefully and gets a wide grin in return.

“Smart enough,” Liam nods, leaning in and kissing Nick again.

“So,” Nick kisses those plush, irresistible lips. “Fucking.” Another kiss before they run out of time. “Smart.”


	9. shiall: on a place of insecurity

_ For uhohmorshedios _

The first time it happened, Niall brushed it off. One of the lads, Niall’s not even sure which one, had poked at his stomach when he’d swapped out his shirt last minute backstage after spilling some of his tea with honey and everyone had laughed. Didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, Niall just pulled his new t-shirt on and went about putting on a good show for the people who’d paid good money to see it. He almost forgot about it entirely.

But then it kept happening.

Hikes in the canyon. Changing rooms after golf. Sometimes just when his shirt was tucked in. Some wise guy (and Niall knew plenty) would give him a pinch and a laugh, and anyone else would join in. Niall doesn’t consider himself a self conscious person, but he’s still  _ human. _ So it starts to ruffle him a bit, though he tries not to let on. Okay, he has kind of a dad bod at 24, but who cares? He’s in good shape, a little padding on his stomach doesn’t mean anything.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he turns this way and that in front of the full-length mirror in the closet. He’s meant to be getting ready to go out, but he’d gotten distracted after pulling on his pants. There’s a small but definite pooch above the waistband of his black briefs. Niall jokes about getting old, but that’s all this little bit of flab could be down to. He hasn’t stopped working out, he’s not eating or drinking any more than usual. He’s just… getting older.

Maybe he should happy. He’d looked like a scrawny fifteen year old for years after he’d actually been one. It’s a good thing he’s filling out. No more skinny little chicken legs for him, no sir.

“Babe?” Shawn pokes his head in the room. “What are you–”

He breaks off when they make eye contact in the mirror. Niall is frozen in place, pinching his own stomach, as Shawn lifts his brow in surprise.

“Baby, what–”

“Nothing!” Niall interrupts, smoothing a hand over his stomach before dropping it. “Nothing, just getting ready.”

“Okay,” Shawn says, his tone purposefully casual. He crosses the room quickly, it only takes a few paces for him due to those long giraffe legs, and he picks up a t-shirt from one of the shelves. “How about this one?”

“Nah,” Niall shakes his head, trying to figure out how to say he wants to wear something loose without actually saying he wants to wear something loose. He bites his lip when the words don’t come.

“Nah?” Shawn teases, taking two steps and ending up in front of Niall, holding the simple white t-shirt up. “Why not? I like this one, you can tuck it in and wear that brown belt with it.”

In lieu of answering, Niall looks his boyfriend up and down. His perfect, lanky boyfriend with his lithe, toned body. Even if Shawn gained some weight, Niall doesn’t think anyone would notice it. He’s too tall, it wouldn’t settle so noticeably on Shawn’s stomach.

“C’mon,” Shawn cajoles, pulling Niall closer by his hips. “I like this one, you look hot in it. No,  _ fit. _ You look really fit in it.”

Niall cackles. Shawn knows how hilarious it is when he tries to use slang like fit, he might as well have wished Niall top of the morning. It always lifts a bad mood, it’s like Shawn’s secret weapon or something. Like he needs one, he has the strongest charm offensive of anyone Niall knows.

“You’re the one who looks fit, love,” Niall replies, a last ditch effort to distract Shawn.

It doesn’t work. It never does.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” Shawn asks softly, smoothing a lock of hair off of Niall’s forehead. “You don’t feel like going tonight? I thought you were excited.”

“I was,” Niall mumbles, avoiding Shawn’s hazel eyes. “I just, uh… don’t know what to wear. I was thinking something more, like… loose?”

“Why?” Shawn laughs gently. “I love you in tight clothes.  _ You _ love you in tight clothes, that’s why you have so many. Right?”

“Well, um, lately,” Niall starts before trailing off completely. He absentmindedly strokes a hand over his stomach and Shawn drops his eyes to watch.

He looks back up, his face open and eyes full of understanding. He crouches down in front of Niall, still tall even as he kneels on the floor, and tosses the t-shirt to the side before gently prying Niall’s hand away. He runs a delicate fingertip over Niall’s stomach, tracing the skin above the waistband.

“Lately, you have the cutest little belly,” he says, flicking his eyes up to meet Niall’s. “And I know you’re not crazy about it, baby, but I am.”

“It’s not a big deal–”

“No, it’s really not,” Shawn agrees. “It’s just, like, the tiniest bit bigger than it used to be.”

“I just don’t feel like being teased about it is all,” Niall finishes all in a rush. His shoulder sag in relief, like they’d literally been carrying that confession until he’d finally spoken the words aloud.

“I get that,” Shawn says seriously. “But what about, like… other kinds of attention?”

“What?” Niall laughs. “What d’you mean, other kinds of attention?”

“I mean, like…” Shawn hesitates, the faintest pink of a blush tingeing his cheeks. He looks back up at Niall, admitting, “I kind of want to kiss it? Like… kind of really want to.”

“You want to kiss my stomach?” Niall attempts to clarify. He shimmies his hips. “This old thing?”

Shawn rests his head against Niall’s stomach, giggling into his skin. The huffed little breaths feel good and Niall starts to imagine how good Shawn’s soft lips might feel there.

Maybe they won’t be making it to the party after all.

“Yeah,” Shawn says finally, grinning up at him. He raises his eyebrows. “That cool? Because I’m not even kidding, I love your tummy, it’s so fucking cute, I–”

“Yeah,” Niall interrupts, carding a hand through Shawn’s fluffy curls. “Yeah, that’s, um, cool. Sure.”

Shawn gives him one last grin before turning his full attention to Niall’s tummy, as he’d called it. First he tugs the waistband of Niall’s pants down, just a bit. Then he nuzzles his face against Niall’s skin, which feels better than Niall  would have thought. He’s not really ticklish there; it just feels good, Shawn’s skin against his. They may both be songwriters, but neither of them have been able to sum up that feeling, put it properly to words how each other’s skin just feels different, better than anyone else’s.

_ Fireworks. Magic. Home. _ All cliches. All true.

And then Shawn finally, finally presses a kiss to Niall’s skin. It’s sensual and comforting at the same time, and Niall has to thread his fingers through Shawn’s hair to ground himself. Then there’s another kiss, lips slightly more parted than the first. Then another. Another.

Shawn looks up, his eyes sparkling. “This cool?”

“Yeah,” Niall manages. “This is cool.”


	10. horchata: to give up control

_ For crinkle-eyed-boo _

This thing between them is still new. New enough for Nick to feel  _ shy _ of all things. For his heart rate to pick up and his palms to start sweating. Heat spreads from his cheeks down to his neck. He can’t  _ help _ but shy away from Niall’s gaze, expectant and almost stern the longer he waits. The intensity is heady and thrilling but just too much to bear at the same time.

Nick’s just barely covered his face with his hands before Niall is gently prying them away.

“Now, now, pet,” he chides, moving Nick’s hands to cross them over his head, leaving him exposed. “If you can’t ask me for what you want, how can I give it to you?”

Nick shudders, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. Images of the things he wants, the things he’s only recently let himself want, flood his mind as Niall nips at his throat. As he leans into the touch, it occurs to him that he can have the things he wants.

He just has to ask first.

“I like, um,” he mumbles, his voice raspy from disuse. He flexes his hands above his head, but doesn’t move them. “This, I like this, with my hands?”

“You like them above your head?” Niall asks, searching Nick’s eyes. “Or you like that I put them there?”

“Both,” Nick whispers.

Niall nods at him, no smile but clear approval on his face, and Nick wants more. He can do this, he can ask, and then he can  _ have. _

“Can you tie them?”

That earns him a smile. Niall leans over the edge of the bed and picks up the tie he’d worn to work that day, then crawls up over Nick’s body. Every brush of bare skin is like wildfire and Nick is desperate to arch up, get some friction against Niall’s leg, but he knows better. There’s a muttered curse or two, but Niall manages to weave the soft material around Nick’s entwined wrists and secure them to the headboard without too much difficulty.

“How’s that, love?” he asks, stroking Nick’s cheek.

Nick lets himself be greedy, nuzzles into this touch, and Niall rewards him with a soft laugh.

“’S perfect,” Nick slurs, trying to move his hands and finding he can’t. He tugs once more, the feeling of restraint going straight to his aching cock.

“You sure? I need you tell me if it’s too tight,” Niall says, his tone brooking no argument and sending a thrill down Nick’s spine.

“Yes,” Nick answers obediently, turning his wrists inside the material. “Not too tight.”

“Alright, love,” Niall murmurs, indulging Nick with another stroke to his cheek. “What else?”

It takes a moment for Nick to catch up, realize there’s a question to answer. That he’s keeping Niall waiting.

“Your mouth?” he asks, turning his face to hide it in the pillow.

Niall lifts Nick’s chin with his finger, gently turning it toward him until Nick meets his eyes.

“My mouth?” he asks, darting a tongue out to wet his thin pink lips. He considers Nick for a moment, tilting his head. “And?”

He always know when there’s more, never lets Nick get away with holding back. But it’s because he wants to give Nick everything, so Nick always gives in, gives himself completely over, so they can both have everything they want.

“Can you,” he starts, tripping over the words. “Don’t, um… don’t let me come right away? Please?”

“I can do that, pet,” Niall says, rewarding him with another smile. “Now, was that so hard?”

“No,” Nick answers, lifting his head and capturing Niall’s lips with his own. It’s lush, open mouthed, but Niall pulls back before Nick can slip his tongue in. He rests his head back against the pillow. “No, it wasn’t.”


	11. ziall: where it doesn't hurt

_ For anon _

He’s been coming up here too much; he knows that. It’s just that the walls in their apartment start to close in on him any time he tries to relax there, read or watch TV, just  _ be. _ The studio’s no better; it’s not worth chasing the release of creating something.

He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

He used to be able to count on it, that ability to smear charcoal over a sheet of paper or brush bold colors of paint over a canvas to exorcise his demons. It takes too much energy these days, though, to look at a blank space and contemplate filling it. Maybe if he could bring himself to start, just get the first stroke over with, but it’s too daunting. He wouldn’t be able to get it right, everything that’s in his head. And even if he could, who’d want to see that?

The door creaks behind him, but Zayn doesn’t move. He’s been expecting it.

“Hey, there you are.”

Niall’s voice sounds far away, farther than the few feet from the door to the beat-up old lawn chairs they’d dragged up to the roof when they’d moved into the building, toasting themselves with cheap beer. The seat sags below Zayn’s weight, even though he keeps forgetting to eat lately, and he thinks to himself they should try to replace the chairs soon as he waits.

Because of course Niall comes over and settles in the chair next to him. The worst thing about feeling this way is how guilty it makes him, because all Niall wants is for Zayn to feel better. And it’s not like there’s something for Niall to fix. Zayn can’t be fixed.

“Is it okay if I make you smile?”

The question, always so guileless, almost gets the job done itself. Zayn can feel the corners of his lips twitch, and he nods, glancing over from the sunset in front of them to Niall. It was a warm day, so Niall’s clad in shorts and a t-shirt, a pair of Ray-Bans stuck in the neckline. Zayn shakes his head as he looks back to the view of the city in front of them, washed in soft orange light. Zayn runs cold, so he has his leather jacket on, but Niall never remembers to layer. Always starts complaining and demanding cuddles when there’s a cool breeze.

Zayn supposes that’s not so bad after all, though.

He flinches at the first light tap, caught off guard, but relaxes back into his rickety chair as Niall’s hand moves to his other side and then down to his belly button. Niall usually saves their move for the end, when everything else has failed to make Zayn smile. He must be worried.

It takes a lot of energy, but Zayn turns his head to face Niall, resting his cheek against the back of the chair. He lifts eyebrows in a silent apology and Niall shakes his head. He never needs one. Half of Zayn appreciates it and half of him feels more eaten alive by guilt. He knows logically it wouldn’t actually help if Niall got mad at him, but sometimes he can’t help wishing for it. Being angry with each other would be better than feeling like… this.  

“I called your mom,” Niall says, reaching over and taking one of Zayn’s hands in his. “Not because of… just, I wanted to see if she’d send me her spaghetti Bolognese recipe. Remember, you smiled last time she made it for us?”

“You’re obsessed with my smile,” Zayn grumbles good naturedly. His brain is right, he doesn’t really want to fight. Doesn’t want to yell or break things. This is better.

“Um, yeah,” Niall replies. “Have you seen yourself smile? It’s the best thing in the whole world, I swear. It gets me right here.”

He clutches his heart dramatically and it almost works.

“It’s not just your mouth,” Niall says, almost to himself. He looks ahead to the view as he continues, “It’s like your whole face. Your eyes do this crinkle at the corners and, yeah, you smile but it like lifts up your cheeks right to your eyes, you know? I love it.”

“I love you.”

Niall looks back over to him and squeezes his hand.

“I love you, too. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

And it’s nothing monumental, they’ve been in this exact spot and exchanged these exact words a hundred times, but for some reason tonight it makes Zayn smile. Just a small one, probably not as good as what Niall described, but still. He smiles at his boyfriend who loves him.

“There it is,” Niall whispers. He thumbs at Zayn’s cheek. “The most beautiful sight in the world.”

He leans in and kisses Zayn, stealing his smile for just a second. A breeze ripples through the air and Niall shuffles his chair closer, huddling for warmth like Zayn knew he would. He wraps his arms around Niall and kisses him softly.

“You want stay a few more minutes?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.”

And maybe it’s not okay now, but something about Niall, his steady voice or comforting presence, the way he never leaves, makes Zayn think maybe it will be soon.


	12. ziall: as encouragement

_ For anon _

A drop of sweat falls from Zayn’s forehead and lands on his phone, blurring the words he’s been reading over and over from his hiding spot away from the dance floor. He wipes it off with his thumb, irritation rising as the motion causes the text to scroll all the way down and lose his place. 

Fucking Hawaii. 

Harry and Louis had sold everyone on their plan with photos of the resort and promises of swim-up bars and endless beaches, but they’d neglected to mention the humidity. How it gets into your clothes and your hair, causing everything to permanently wilt. Even after the sun’s gone down, Zayn can still feel the moisture in the air.

Fucking destination wedding. 

Zayn cranes his neck for a look at the party. It’s a relatively small group, maybe thirty of them altogether, clad in bright colors and leis and singing along as they twist and shout. Utterly carefree, reveling in the cheesiness of it all. It’s easy for them. They don’t have a fucking speech to give.

Well, one of them does, Zayn remembers when his gaze lands on Niall. He’s always the life of the party and this one is no exception. Perched on Liam’s shoulders, his white dress shirt half unbuttoned, swaying as he takes a gulp of beer. No anxiety clawing at his insides before it’s time to make his toast.

Zayn would hate him, but there’s the minor issue of having been secretly in love with him for going on two years now getting just slightly in the way of that. It hadn’t been unrequited love at first sight when Louis dragged Zayn along to meet his new boyfriend and his friends. No, it was so much worse than that. The two groups had blended seamlessly, not just that first night but from then on. Niall quickly became one of Zayn’s closest friends, the person whose texts he would actually reply to and who could get him to join in their pick-up football games.

The weirdest part was how effortlessly he’d woven himself into Zayn’s life. That doesn’t just happen; it usually takes Zayn years to let someone in and trust them so completely. He’d only admitted that he considered Louis his best friend when they’d applied to the same college, and they’d met the first day of junior high. But there was just something about Niall, right from the start. 

Zayn wipes the sweat from his forehead as he watched Niall cackle from his perch. He can’t quite hear the sound, but his brain automatically supplies it to match the image. Biting his lip, he lets himself watch while his mind drifts to his oft-revisited list of things he loves about Niall. 

Niall’s easy going, completely at home and comfortable in his own skin, no matter the company. Something about being next to Niall always emboldens Zayn, gets him to relax at least a little bit.

The phrase “salt of the earth” might as well have been invented just for him. Unlike most people, he says what he means and means what he says. He shows up when he says he will. He doesn’t call attention to his own problems, he just gets on with it. He accepts thank yous, but never seems to need one. 

He’s smart. And not just book smart, he has emotional intelligence in spades. He knows how to laugh at himself when he’s wrong, though.

He’s fun. He loves to laugh. He wears dumb socks with weird prints. 

He watches golf, for fuck’s sake. Even plays it occasionally. That’s when Zayn knew he was a goner, when he let Niall drag him to a driving range. 

He’s… looking right over at Zayn. 

Fuck. Zayn quickly steps out of sight, leaning against the wall that hides him from everyone, but he’s sure it’s too late. Niall has spotted him hiding and will be over to investigate in five… four… three… two… one… 

“Zaynie!” 

Niall’s cheerful voice precedes him and Zayn briefly considers making a run for it, but he’s too slow. Niall rounds the corner and grins, throwing his arms out for a hug. And Zayn is weak, he’s a weak, pathetic man who takes what he can get, so he allows himself to be drawn into Niall’s arm, accepts the sloppy kiss to his wilted, sweaty hair, and returns the hug.

“What,” Niall starts as he pulls back, keeping his hands on Zayn’s shoulders. “What are you doing back here?”

“Speech,” Zayn mumbles, holding up his phone. “I was just going over it.”

“Speech!” Niall exclaims, shaking Zayn gently by the shoulders. “Fuck, I forgot about that. I’m gonna have to wing mine, Harry’ll kill me.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. Of course Niall forgot about his fucking speech while Zayn has been agonizing over his in the corner all night. If that doesn’t just about sum the two of them up.

“Nah, he’s not going to kill you,” Zayn grumbles, shaking Niall off so he can find his cigarettes and lighter in his pockets. “Because you’re going to crush it after I stammer through mine and fuck it all to shit.”

“Fuck it all to shit,” Niall repeats, looking mildly impressed at the curse. “You sure you’re not any Irish?”

Zayn laughs in spite of himself as he finds his pack and lights himself a cigarette. He takes a drag and leans back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he says quietly, half hoping Niall doesn’t hear him. He senses Niall shift to lean against the wall next to him, feels the body heat along his. 

“Why not, Z?”

Add that to the list: a fondness for nicknames.

“You know me,” Zayn replies, wiping sweat from his forehead again. “I just… I don’t like public speaking, I clam up and my head starts pounding and nothing comes out right.”

“You always do better than you think,” Niall remarks. Zayn doesn’t look, but he’s sure Niall shakes his head at him. “But look, it’s a smaller group than if they’d got married at home, right? All people you know. Does that help?”

“Honestly?” Zayn says, taking another drag as he flicks his eyes over to Niall, who’s watching him intently. “I can’t tell if it’s better or worse.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, wrinkling his brow. “Feels like a lot of pressure, huh?”

“It’s for Lou, you know?” Zayn replies. He runs a hand through his hair and immediately regrets it, having to wipe the sweat off on his pants. “I just… I want him to know I’m really happy for them. I don’t want to fuck it all to shit.”

“You’ve got it all written out?” Niall asks, gesturing to Zayn’s pocket where he’d stuffed his phone. When Zayn nods, he continues, “Okay. It’s not how you say the words that’s gonna matter to Louis, the actual words are what’s going to matter.”

Zayn nods again, begrudgingly admitting to himself that Niall has a point.

“So, here’s what you’ll do,” Niall explains, pushing off the wall to face Zayn fully. “Just read it right off your phone, and I’ll stand at the front of the crowd, so when you look up, you’ll see me, and you’ll know I’m not, like, judging you or anything. Because I won’t be. I wouldn’t.”

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment. He can’t look Niall in the eyes as he makes that kind of promise, it’s too much. It’s too hard, knowing he doesn’t feel the same way. 

“Then,” Niall says, and Zayn can hear the smile in his voice so he peeps an eye open. “Then, when we get back, you can print it out all nice and frame it, give it to them. You know them, they’ll eat that shit up with a spoon. Harry might cry.”

Zayn laughs as he tosses his cigarette stub to the ground and crushes it with his heel. Before he can stop himself, he’s pulling Niall in for a hug, swaying him side to side and murmuring “thank you” in his ear. Chances are he’s actually going to get through this night and it’s all down to Niall.

There’s another kiss pressed to his sweaty hair, a soft one this time. Hesitant. Zayn stops swaying, frozen in place. It’s like he’s forgotten how to move, but so has Niall. They’re just standing in a hallway holding each other.

In the distance, the music cuts out and Louis’ voice over a microphone travels over to them but Zayn can’t quite make out the words. At some point, he’s going to have to remember how to move. He has a speech to give. But so does Niall. And Niall’s just standing stock still, his arms around Zayn.

What is going on?

Finally, Zayn shifts back far enough to meet Niall’s eyes. He parts his lips to say something, though he has no idea what, and Niall leans in and captures them in a kiss. Still soft, still hesitant. And fucking perfect. Zayn’s lips move automatically to meet Niall’s, and then the two of them move together, slowly. It’s several kisses, really, but all wrapped up into one. One all-consuming kiss, the likes of which Zayn has dreamed about, but never believed would actually happen.

What the fuck is going on?

Harry’s voice booms over the microphone and this time Zayn can make out his name. They break apart, both panting slightly, and look into each other’s eyes.

“You’re going to crush it, baby,” Niall whispers. He tucks a lock of Zayn’s hair behind his ear. “Just look at me, like I’m the only one there, okay?”

“Okay,” Zayn says, letting out a shaky breath. He steels himself to say something, he has to, he needs to know what this means. “And then–”

“And then I’d say we have some things to talk about,” Niall says gently. He squeezes Zayn’s hip before his heart has a chance to fall, and pecks his lips. “Like how I’ve had feelings for you for a long, long time.”

Another peck to Zayn’s lips.

“And I promised myself…”

One more peck to Zayn’s lips.

“... that I’d actually do something about it on this trip.”

A last lingering kiss.

“Is that okay?”

The question is so absurd that Zayn wants to laugh. But looking into Niall’s clear blue eyes (another thing to add to the list), he stifles it, promising himself to tell Niall how ridiculously, over the top, gloriously okay that is later. 

He has a speech to give.


	13. larry: because the world is saved

_ For a-brighter-yellow _

_ “Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?” _

Just as Cap starts to take out the Hydra operatives in the elevator, including the hot one whose name Louis can never remember, there’s a nip at his ear. Louis yelps and twists away, glaring at the infuriating boy next to him who just bit his earlobe while he’s trying to watch a pivotal scene in one of his favorite movies. 

“Haz! Seriously?” Louis rubs his hand over his ear. “That actually hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry pouts, sitting back on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, the very picture of not sorry at all. “But you’re ignoring me.”

It’s not actually a bad problem to have, a hot boyfriend – infuriatingly hot actually, with his nice little body, rich brown curly hair and plump pink lips – who’s been trying to make out with him since the first “On your left,” but Louis is preparing for Avengers: Endgame here. The stakes are right there in the title, it’s _the_ _end game,_ but Harry just doesn’t get it. He keeps caressing Louis’ thigh and peppering kisses along his jaw to distract him, huffing annoyed sighs when he doesn’t get his way. 

Because Louis refuses to be distracted.

“Baby,” Louis says gently, after he pauses the movie and Harry’s pout somehow becomes even more pronounced. “I told you I wanted to marathon all the movies before Endgame comes out, you knew that, and I only have sixteen days to watch twelve more.”

“Liam isn’t watching all hundred movies,” Harry grumbles, counting off on his fingers as he continues. “He didn’t watch the Hulk one. He’s not going to watch Doctor Strange. Sophia said–”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, determined not to let him pick the same fight for the tenth time this month. “You know Liam’s not a completist like me, okay? You’ve listened to me talk enough shit about it. I don’t care what Sophia said, I’m watching all of them. I thought that was okay with you.”

“We just haven’t had a lot of time together lately,” Harry says in a small voice, uncrossing his arms finally to pick at the hem of his raggedy t-shirt. “I keep having to work late, and we have so much family stuff to do on the weekends. I just… I miss you.”

There it is. He knew Harry wasn’t being a nuisance just for the sake of it, even though he can be a little shit when he wants to, but sometimes it takes some coaxing to get him to open up about what’s really going on.

“I miss you too, baby,” Louis says, running his fingers through Harry’s floppy curls and smiling when his face softens. “It’s just been a busy couple months, that’s all, things’ll go back to normal soon, I promise. You’ll see so much of me, you’ll get sick of me. Start begging me to watch movies without you.”

Harry harrumphs at that, but the wrinkle in his forehead smooths out completely. “Promise?” he whispers.

“Promise,” Louis nods. “Hey, how about this, I’ll kiss you when the helicarriers are self destructing, after Steve says ‘I’m with you ’til the end of the line,’ okay? When the world is saved.”

Harry scrunches his nose. “What’s a helicarrier?”

And Louis tries, he really does, but he can’t help rolling his eyes.

“Harry,” he starts, aware that he needs to choose his words carefully. “You’ve seen this movie at least five times. How do you understand it if you don’t know what a helicarrier is?”

Harry shrugs. “You know I get kind of lost during the action stuff.”

Personally Louis lives for the action stuff but if they start debating the merits, he’ll never get through this movie, let alone the rest, so he smiles and gives Harry’s hair one last ruffle. 

“We have a deal?” he asks, picking up the remote.

“Deal,” Harry begrudgingly agrees. 

He holds out a hand to shake, but Louis bats it away on the chance that Harry’s trying to pull him in to seal it with a kiss and defeat the whole purpose. The sound of the fight scene comes roaring back when he presses play and, immensely satisfied, Louis sits back and wraps an arm around Harry. Louis may want to actually pay attention to the movie, especially since they’re getting to some great stuff, but they have both been busy the past few weeks so it is nice just to have him close. They both get a little touch starved without this kind of thing.

“I don’t like this, like,” Harry starts, lazily waving a hand at the screen. “Young, blonde Steve. I like the buff daddy Steve in the last couple movies.”

“Oh, really?” Louis says coolly, narrowing his eyes as he looks over at Harry. “Well, I’m definitely not kissing you now.”

Harry squawks at that and Louis shushes him as the action on screen moves back to Steve and Natasha tracking down answers; he loves this part. It’s hard to concentrate as the movie goes on, though, because Harry’s not really watching it anymore, if he ever really was. His pale green eyes are locked on Louis for over an hour, and his hand travels from drawing patterns on Louis’ knee to tugging at his dark pink, fuller bottom lip and back.

Honestly, how is Louis supposed to enjoy “Who the hell is Bucky?” with Harry’s patented frog face on him the whole time? Harry doesn’t even react when Garry Shandling whispers “Hail Hydra” for fuck’s sake, and that still gets Louis every time.

When the last real bit of “action stuff” starts, Louis leans forward, elbows on his knees, and totally tunes Harry out. The whole movie is great, and the Captain backstory is some of his favorite stuff in any MCU movie, but this is what Louis’ been waiting for; the whole movie led up to this sequence. 

When it gets close to the last “I’m with you ’til the end of the line,” Louis glances over at Harry, maybe a little more ready to kiss his boy than he previously let on, only to see that Harry’s slumped against the back of the couch asleep. He’s even huffing little snores that Louis hadn’t noticed before, too wrapped up in the action. 

He looks younger like this, like the boy Louis met years ago. He face is relaxed, any traces of concern about work or family or time together smoothed away by slumber. A few curls fall over his forehead and he smacks those stupidly sexy lips in a decidedly unsexy but endearing way as Louis watches. 

He really has missed him too.

Gently, Louis strokes a hand up Harry’s leg, wanting to wake him but not startle him. Harry doesn’t show signs up stirring yet, so Louis sits back, careful not to disturb him, and threads his fingers through his boy’s hair, brushing the curls off his pretty face. Harry slowly blinks his eyes open and Louis smiles as he yawns right in Louis’s face. 

“Did he do the helicopter thing yet?” Harry asks, his voice raspy from disuse. “When he pulls it?”

Louis wonders how long he’s been asleep for as he continues stroking Harry’s hair. 

“No, baby,” he murmurs. “That’s the next one. I told you, this is the one with the helicarriers.”

Harry frowns and shakes his head. “But I thought–”

“You know what you look like?” Louis asks, thumbing at Harry’s bottom lip and thinking about biting it. Maybe later. “A disgruntled little kitten. That’s what you are.”

And because he’s a little shit when he wants to be, Harry meows at him and bats his face with his hand curved into a paw shape.

“Okay, kitten,” Louis laughs, catching Harry’s paw in his. “We had a deal, remember?”

“Yes,” Harry answers, batting his eyelashes. “Is the world saved yet?”

Louis’ world was saved a long time ago, about the moment that a lanky guy with unruly curls held back by a scarf ambled into his Victorian Lit class and his life, but he makes a show of glancing at the TV screen anyway.

“Yeah, kitten,” he whispers, “all safe.”

Harry’s eyes flutter closed and he tilts his chin up, puckering his lips for his long-awaited kiss like some kind of Disney princess. Louis’ breath catches in his throat; he’s still caught off guard sometimes at just how lovely Harry is, how lucky he is to have him.

An impatient whine from low in Harry’s throat interrupts his reverie and Louis grins, even though Harry’s eyes are still closed and he won’t see it. He’s kept his boy waiting long enough, so he bends his head and captures Harry’s plump lips in a soft, slow kiss.

Now that he’s finally getting what he wanted, Harry relaxes, practically purring in Louis’ arms. He’s pliant underneath Louis, taking every soft, chaste kiss that he gets, moving his lips automatically to meet Louis.’ When Harry sighs, Louis runs his tongue over Harry’s parted lips and the sigh breaks into a soft moan. The noises Harry makes have always driven Louis crazy, spurred him on, eager for more, so he licks into Harry’s mouth, turning the kiss filthy. 

Harry paws at Louis’ shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer as they kiss furiously to the end credits score, which fits the mood better than Louis might have expected actually. He’s just about to move a hand to cup at Harry’s dick when Harry pulls away, looking to the screen.

“What are you doing?” Louis pants, throwing a wild look over his shoulder.

“I like this part,” Harry says innocently, shifting away from Louis on the couch. “You’re the completist, Lou, you can’t not watch Bucky go to the museum exhibit after the credits.”

Harry really can be a little shit when he wants to be. 

Louis loves him so fucking much.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who sent in prompts and thank you for reading!! [ fic post](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/183431809577/its-in-his-kiss-by-disgruntledkittenface-i-cross)


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